


Your name is Arthur

by Night_Faye



Series: Your name is [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur vignettes, Arthur's past as I imagine it, Arthur-centric, Fake Oblivious Arthur, Gen, Magic Destiny Bullshit, The Experimental Writing Style Persists Still, smart arthur, very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Faye/pseuds/Night_Faye
Summary: Your name is Arthur, and this is your story.
Series: Your name is [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165268
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Your name is Arthur

You take your first breath as your mother takes her last, just as the suns light breaks through the window of her room.  
  


You are held tight in the arms of a future, would-be assassin, who looks at you with sadness and love all mingled together as the midwives try desperately to save the queen.  
  


Both will fade, as the years pass, but for right now she sees you and she sees the promise of a bright and golden kingdom.  
  


But your mother is dead.  
  


The light of your reign will not, _can not_ , exist without the darkness of your father’s  
  


You are ripped from the arms of the woman who loved your mother like a sister would, as your father rages at her for his mistakes. Blames her and plans to punish her by slaughtering her people for a deed that was no one’s choice but his.  
  


You have your mother’s hair, yellow like the rays of sunlight across her still body. And you have your mother’s eyes, a blue the color of the sky.  
  


You have her gentle heart, and determined spirit, and a mind that is sharp to the factual evidence of things.  
  


You are named Arthur, just as your mother wished, and threads of destiny wrap tightly around you, and weave your soul to the soul of one who has yet to be born.  
  


Your father will never see these as things you have been given by the woman he claimed to have loved so much.  
  


He will see these as all the ways you are not like him.  
  


Shadow falls across Camelot.

* * *

You’re given your first wooden sword at six years old, and you follow a twelve year old Leon around like ‘ _A duckling follows it’s mother_.’ As Morgana is so fond of pointing out.  
  


She’s been spending more time at the castle, as her father is busy and her mother is ill, and neither can look after her. (They do not tell her that she won’t see her mother again)  
  


You object to that particular comparison, and you make it clear by challenging her to sword fights whenever her hand maid isn’t around to object to such ‘ _Un-Ladylike Behavior._ ’  
  


Mostly because she never turns you down, like Leon sometimes will if he’s helping his mother’s hand maid by watching her two small children.  
  


Your father disapproves of you fighting against a _girl_ and _losing_ more often than not.  
  


You...Don’t really care. Morgana is _fun_ to sword fight with, and you think she’d have been fun to have as a sister. Her smile is reason enough to disobey.

* * *

So, you grow up, with a sort of big brother in Leon, and a sort of big sister in Morgana. And sword fights in the afternoons, and being forced to learn to dance for court dinners and lavish gatherings.  
  


You grow up missing your mother, and hiding away from the windows whenever your father starts shouting sorcery, and steadily the wooden weapons you practice with turn to metal that you train with.  
  


Gaius is always there, standing in the background and always ready to tend to your illnesses and wounds. You wonder if he is what a grandfather would have been like, had you had one.

* * *

It’s when you’re on the cusp of turning nine that Morgana comes to live at the palace, under the guardianship of your father.  
  


She comes with red eyes and tear stained cheeks, and all you can do is hug her tightly and let her cry onto your shoulder.  
  


She’s lost _both_ of her parents.  
  


You’ve lost only the one, and you never even _knew_ your mother.  
  


So, you don’t have any other way to help.  
  


And when she starts to have nightmares, you sneak her down to the kitchens to steal hot chunks of bread. (They’re not so much _stolen_ as they are put in a reachable place for young hands while Audrey the Cook turns her back after a conspiratorial wink and smile.)

* * *

You learn to ignore how, sometimes, the light makes your pseudo sister’s eyes appear gold when impossible things happen around her.

And you get _good_ at pretending.  
  


Maybe…  
  


Maybe _too good._

* * *

But still, you grow up safe and healthy. Protected from even the things you would have enjoyed. Your life is boring. As the life of a prince always is.  
  


And there’s a tug, deep below your ribs, that makes you feel like there should be _more_.  
  


You’ve followed that tug, before. On long hunting trips, with ten knights not including Leon as a guard.  
  


It leads you to the same stretch of Camelot border each and every time. And it doesn’t stop tugging there.  
  


You feel like if you went just a bit further, you’d see what that instinct was pulling you towards.  
  


You never go a bit further.

* * *

In front of you stands a boy who can’t be too much younger than you are. With black hair and eyes as blue as the sea, and a smirk that sparks a fire. Because something about it invites _adventure._ And for a prince like you, adventure is like a _lifeblood_.  
  


He’s a bit rough, but in contrarily gentle way, and he’s a bit rude. But he _jokes_ , makes _you_ the joke. No one has _ever_ done that, ‘cept for Morgana.  
  


But this is...Is _different_.  
  


Morgana’s ribbing had always had a sisterly quality to it, but this kid…  
  


There's a freedom in it. He’s not expected to act as a noble would.  
  


And his insults are…  
  


Well, you’re not exactly sure _how._ But somehow they carry the weight of someone playfully shoving a friend into the pigs pen. And you know that distinct feeling. Leon’s done it enough times on your patrols to the surrounding farms for it to be buried deep in the memories of your bones.  
  


It’s _comforting_. It’s _absurd_. It’s…  
  


It’s everything you ever wished from a _true friend.  
  
_

And Leon is great, he _is_. But there’s a difference between growing up with someone older than you are, and someone who is far closer to your age, with no prior reasons to know each other.  
  


Except…  
  


Except for the fact that the tugging has stopped. And you suddenly realize it wasn’t tugging you to some _place_.  
  


But to some _one_

* * *

And his name is _Merlin_. And you decide it must be something about people with M in their names, as in, _‘Mess with Arthur.’  
  
_

It’s probably not really a thing, but it makes you laugh a little to think about it.  
  


Maybe if this ‘ _Merlin_ ’ sticks around, Camelot’ll liven up a bit.

* * *

But when you thought of the kingdom livening up a bit, you didn’t mean _an assassination attempt_.  
  


You feel time slow down around you as much as you see it in the knife that was hurtling towards you just a moment ago, now look as if it’s slicing through something much thicker than air.  
  


Accompanied by a flash of gold to your side.  
  


And then you’re knocked to the ground by Merlin, hitting it _hard_.  
  


And ‘ _Huh.’  
  
_

Maybe there was something to that ‘ _M_ ’ thing. Not that you’d ever let that thought fester. It was too dangerous.

* * *

Except, Merlin makes it nearly _impossible_ to be oblivious.  
  


So you end up going _over board.  
  
_

And it’s the worst when you discover just how your mother died, how it wasn’t _your fault,_ like you’ve believed for most of your life.  
  


The _pain_ in your, if you are being perfectly honest with yourself, _best friend’s_ voice when he tells you that Morgause was using magic to deceive you was poignant, and it told you...  
  


Well, it told you that Merlin was pretty sure he was _lying_ to you.  
  


You...Don’t know why you let him. Your father is the man responsible for his fear, responsible for...For _so much fear.  
  
_

_But_ , Merlin is lying to you for a reason. So.  
  


You listen to him. You let him lie to you.

* * *

You do that for _years.  
  
_

You ignore the gold. You ignore the unfamiliar words under his breath. You ignore how whenever something important happens, you end up knocked out.  
  


Or, rather, you _suppress your emotions_ at being constantly knocked out, for Merlin’s _safety_. And wasn’t Merlin a physicians assistant? Didn’t physicians normally _frown_ upon repeated hits to the head?  
  


You decide, as soon as Merlin _tells you,_ you’re sending him to scrub the stables _spotless_ for all of those times.  
  


It _hurts_ , goddammit.

* * *

You also ignore Morgana in all the ways you have since she came to live in the palace, which, in hindsight, turned out to be such a big blunder that you end up actually _losing_ her.  
  


And when you finally _find her,_ you’re not sure she’s the Morgana you’ve always seen a sister in, anymore.

* * *

It doesn’t take long for her to...Prove that particular thought true.  
  


Ironically, that’s also the day you learn she really _is_ your sister.  
  


It’s a cruel joke. And not the pig pen sort of cruel that’s actually somewhat hilarious.

* * *

But it’s also the reason you get four more brothers.  
  


Knights, who all _earned_ the title, through their actions, not their blood.  
  


You smile when you _finally_ knight Lancelot, properly and permanently, with no false pretenses between the two of you. He’s got that true nobility that Gwaine talks about so fervently, coming from _what he_ _does,_ not _who he is_ , wrought deep in his soul, and a determination in his eyes to always do the right thing, no matter the obstacles, that you yourself admire.  
  


You can’t help the _grin_ when you knight Gwaine, next. There’s something about how he carries himself that tells you he has the loyalty of a knight in his _bones._ Something forged and crafted in the darkness of his doubts. And you know that it’s for Merlin, first, and you’re glad of it. For as long as Merlin’s with you, Gwaine will be, too. And if Merlin ever leaves, he’ll have someone looking out for him.  
  


Percival...Percival you don’t know much about, but it’s that very reason that you’re _excited_ as your blade rests gently on his shoulders. Your enemies are his enemies, he had said, and _meant,_ without knowing hardly anything about you _._ You won’t take the loyalty of someone so earnest for granted.  
  


And then you get to Elyan, and you have been waiting to do _this_ for a very long time. Elyan had been there for as long as Leon had. Always said he’d forge you and Leon the best swords Camelot would ever see. You always thought it a shame that such an adventurous spirit wouldn’t be by your side to see the world. Now, he will be. (You don’t miss the proud smile of Guinevere, and it’s as much for her younger brother as it is for you. You smile back, can’t help as your heart thumps just a tad faster.)

* * *

You all get through the battle, some worse for wear, but you get through it _alive_.  
  


Your father is a shadow of his former self, and on the one hand it saddens you, deeply, because despite his flaws he _was_ a strong man that you couldn’t help but admire when he used it for the right things.  
  


But on the other…  
  


On the other, you’re made regent, and you no longer have to sit to the side as your people suffer, no longer have to back down when your father tells you to.  
  


You kiss Gwen, out in the open for all to see, because she is strong, and beautiful, and _smart.  
  
_

She is everything you could ever want in a queen. But you can’t make her what she so rightly deserves to be until you are properly king, and that…  
  


That would mean your father is dead, instead of just a shadow, and while on some days you had had that thought, it’s...Too painful.  
  


For all the awful things he has ever done, he is still your father...And you remember Merlin _lying_ to you, to spare you from losing him.  
  


So, you know you’ll have to wait.  
  


You call for your uncle, because you know that you can’t do this right on your own.  
  


The light begins to creep back into the kingdom, sending the shadows writhing and scattering,

* * *

A year passes by, and you’re celebrating Samhain for the masses.  
  


You’ve already celebrated Lancelot’s day of birth earlier that evening, just the round table.  
  


You’re still not sure how Merlin found that out, given commoners don’t often celebrate birthdays, and Lancelot insisted he never told him. But Merlin’s secret smile is something you let slide.  
  


But then Merlin collapses in the middle of the feast, and everything spirals downwards from there.

* * *

Merlin’s cold to the touch, and you think ‘ _This can’t be the end_.’  
  


that tug is back in your gut, but it’s weak, pulsating.  
  


Merlin is _fading_ , and it physically _hurts_.  
  


You’ve felt this before, but it’s only now that you realize it’s connected to Merlin on the edge of _death_.  
  


You realize that, forever ago, he wasn’t _joking_ when he said he’d been late because he was dying.  
  


That burr sticks itself into your heart and _buries_ itself.

* * *

But the tug becomes stronger, all of a sudden, and then it weakens, until it’s gone.  
  


Your breath catches in your throat when Lancelot comes into view, and you don’t wanna say anything, but you have to ask.  
  


You could smack him for that ‘ _bad news.’  
  
_

But the euphoria from his ‘ _He’s still alive.’_ overrides that desire, and you scramble up and pull your best friend into a tight hug.  
  


You’re going to die, very soon, to save _everyone_. So you allow yourself the affection, the tight warmness of Merlin hugging back, of Merlin’s _smile.  
  
_

You refuse to entertain Merlin’s idea of sacrificing himself for _you.  
  
_

You’re just one man, and no one but Merlin himself deserves loyalty to the degree.

* * *

_But no one dies_.  
  


You wake up on the stone floor, and you stare up at the two knights and Merlin.  
  


Lancelot is carefully wrapping Merlin’s bloodied hand, and Gwaine is…  
  


Wiping tears from Merlin’s face. You didn’t know why Merlin was _crying_ , but he was also smiling as Gwaine spoke to him in too low a tone for you to hear anything.  
  


You grunt, and push yourself up, and you regret it the instant you do because it breaks the moment of tenderness between the three.  
  


But also, you want to hug Merlin again, yourself. And make sure his hand is alright.  
  


And smack the back of his head for knocking you out, _again_. Not that he’ll know that’s the reason.  
  


They could do more of that when you all got back to Camelot.

* * *

The sun breaks over the walls of the castle, and you lean on your arms next to Merlin.  
  


The wind is carefully blowing , sending his black hair fluttering, and he smiles at you.  
  


You tilt your head, give him your own smile, and then look out across your kingdom.  
  


“Merlin?” You whisper, hesitant. It’s been three days since you came home, and Merlin’s been the happiest he’s been in a long time. And it has you wondering if it has to do with that long, private conversation he had with his two favorite knights the other day.  
  


“Yes, Arthur?”  
  


“I need your help.”  
  


“With what?”  
  


“Lifting the ban on magic.”  
  


There’s silence, before Merlin, voice breaking, whispers back.  
  


“Really?”  
  


“Yes, really. You’re not _actually_ deaf, are you?”  
  


Merlin swallows, and laughs wetly. You refuse to look, don’t think you can stand seeing Merlin cry, even if it is from relief.  
  


“Why me?”  
  


“Because if you can do...Whatever it is you did to make the Cailleach close the veil without a sacrifice, you’ve got to be powerful, yeah?”  
  


“You...Know?”  
  


You turn, now, and yes, the tears on Merlin’s face and in his eyes makes your heart twist, but…  
  


“Always have, I was just waiting for…” You gesture, across the kingdom, out to the sun-gold lands. “For the right moment, either for you to tell me, or for me to let you know...For the moment I could _do_ something.”  
  


Merlin _grins_.  
  


“Yeah…Yeah, Arthur. ‘Course I’ll help.”  
  


The light _explodes_ across the kingdom, and the shadows are no more.


End file.
